


Et Ne Nos Inducas In Tentationem

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - In Storybrooke | Cursed (Once Upon a Time), Angst, Breaking Celibacy Vows, Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Henry Mills Friendship, Cursed Captain Hook | Killian Jones, F/M, Huntsman | Sheriff Graham Lives, Priest Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Rating May Change, Roman Catholicism, Sharing a Bed, The Jolly Roger | The Jewel of the Realm (Once Upon a Time)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24592264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Father Killian Jones could never remember what drove him to become a priest. It certainly wasn't his own devotion, not that he didn't believe or didn't want to help others, but deep down, he just couldn't work out why he had chosen this path. And worst of all, he couldn't even remember swearing the vows that he had supposedly took, but he had always endeavoured to keep those vows, but he finds his resolve wavering when a stranger by the name of Emma Swan arrives in Storybrooke with no intention of leaving just yet.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Henry Mills, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Henry Mills & Emma Swan, Huntsman | Sheriff Graham & Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Prince Charming | David Nolan & Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan/Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard, Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard & Emma Swan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	Et Ne Nos Inducas In Tentationem

_'A man unwilling to fight for what he wants_

_deserves what he gets.'_

_-_ _Killian Jones_

**28 Years Ago, The Enchanted Forest**

Killian Jones had never really thought about death, well his own death that was. He'd witnessed many, more than he could count actually. From the accident that had led to Captain John Silver's sudden demise to the horror of watching Liam's life slip away before his eyes and to the butchery of his entire crew at the hands of the Crocodile, Killian had seen many people die. He knew all too well what the end inevitably looked like. Hell, he'd been the bringer of Death for many, directly and indirectly, alike as both Naval Lieutenant and as a pirate, the latter having caused more of the direct input. In the past two centuries walking, well mostly sailing, this miserable earth, it would have been hard not to have seen at least one person die.

But no, Killian had scarcely thought of his own death.

A prolonged life and the joy of living in the moment that filled every pirate's life had robbed him from those deep, dark thoughts that could have seeped into his tortured mind. That and rum had long since dulled his fear of the end. In many ways, he had expected it to be quick, sudden even. Unseen and unaware, an 'in the moment' sort of thing; unpreventable and nothing to linger on beforehand. Killian had always assumed he would die with his feet firmly planted on the deck of the _Jolly Roger_ with a sword in his right hand, his hook acting as the left. He'd never thought he'd be spending his last hours miles away from the water, knowing full well when and how he was going to die. 

_'I, King James, sentence you, Killian Jones, to death.'_

The words echoed around the dark, dank cell, echoing through Killian's mind, torturously reminding him that the end was nigh and it would not be a happy one. Though, at least when it finally came, it would be a quick death. A small mercy perhaps, a rope around the neck and a sudden plummet downwards into darkness. Hanging was almost too good for him, had it not been for one fact that he'd tried to push aside. Killian was to die a traitor's death, and nothing more. That would be his legacy, along with the exploits and misdeeds he'd committed on the high seas, but the end would always revolve around that one point. The climax of his life would be at the end of a rope with a broken neck. Then his body would be strung up as a reminder to all who so much thought of a life of piracy. He'd be food for crows, and nothing more. 

_'You shall be taken to your place of execution and hanged by the neck until dead.'_

His shackled hand had reached to his neck once he'd found himself back in the cell, wrapped around his slender throat gently, wondering how different the noose would feel in the morning. The roughness of his skin was nothing compared to what he expected the rope to be like. At that moment, Killian could feel the bite of fibre, the scratch of every single hair and the bitter fact that in his final seconds, all he'd be able to feel would be that damned noose. 

Killian had pulled his hand away, watching the offending part of his body shake with fear. He couldn't bear the feel of it against his delicate skin for a second longer. The back of his throat burned and he could taste the bile rising up from his stomach. Tears threatened to spill at first when his back had hit the rough stone surface of the wall. His matted black hair did little cushion his head against the surface, and all he could hear was the ringing of his chains dancing off every surface as he moved.

Casting his icy gaze downwards, Killian caught sight of his mangled left wrist, the stump unearthed and on view for the world to see. The skin had long since soothed over the bone and flesh, but the reminder was there. He'd be a warning to all who thought that it would be a good idea to cross the Crocodile, or for any who did so indirectly as he had done. Running his right hand over the stump, Killian couldn't help but miss the gleaming hook and thick black bracer that secured it there. Without it, he felt naked, bare for the world to see, as if the fearsome pirate captain was only that when his hook was in place.

After all, they had taken to calling him, Captain Hook.

Now he was just another pirate, waiting for execution and far away from any glory or gold. _What would Liam think of me now?_ Killian wondered, not that he needed to think too hard. Liam's words before they'd reached Neverland before that fateful voyage had never left him. They'd struck like the cannonballs that had rained down on the _Jolly Roger_ when he was captured him every time he'd closed his eyes and thought of his brave, honourable and stubborn older brother. Now they just taunted him, their truth bitterly marking his soul.

_'What a pirate deserves is nothing more than a short drop and a sudden stop.'_

A wiry smile twisted its way onto his lips. Bitter and broken, his hooded eyes glowered at the ceiling, and he fought back the biting laugh that tried to force itself from his lips. Liam would have hated how he had turned out, Killian knew that all too well. There had been little Liam had hated more than pirates. He would have despised his younger brother had he seen him now, all dressed in black and gleeful at the sight of destruction on the high seas. The laughter finally ripped its way out of Killian's mouth at the thought of Liam's face; a bitter and blackened sound that ricocheted through the walls of the small prison.

Maybe he'd finally gone mad. Killian knew that he'd never been the sanest of people; no one who has watched everyone they love die or leave could ever move past that without spiralling towards insanity. The rum definitely wouldn't have helped either, but as he sat there, his back against the damp stone wall, cackling to him, the thought crossed his mind that perhaps this was what insanity looked like, a broken man laughing to himself.

The eerie echoes of his peeling voice danced over every surface. It darted around the other cells, and other prisoners turned their heads in his direction, their eyes full of fury and fear. Some shook their heads, having expected that it would only be a matter of time before the mighty pirate captain succumbed to insanity; others stared in disbelief, unable to look away. The suave, dashing man who had sauntered into the cell alongside them had been reduced to nothing more than a cackling mad man. 

"I'm going to die." Killian found himself mumbling once the laughter had left his body.

Sinking further into the floor, Killian found himself closing his eyes and blocking out the rest of the world. His shackled hands moved to loop around his knees, and he pulled his body further into itself, his head coming to rest on his knees. Trembling, Killian fought to keep his eyes closed, revelling in the comforting darkness it brought. His clothes still had the lingering scent of saltwater and gunpowder, which he breathed in with reverence, delighting in the familiarity of it. His mind conjured up the memory of the sea violently pounding the hull of _Jolly Roger_. 

Trapped in his own pocket of temporary bliss, Killian didn't see the billowing purple, grey and black clouds sweeping through the dungeons. The fierce roar of the wind was so familiar that he assumed his mind was merely whisking him back to a much better place. And when the darkness came closing in, Killian welcomed it, allowing it to sweep him into its embrace and allowing it to take him far away from the dark, dank, dreary cell.

…

**Present Day, Storybrooke**

Rain pattered gently against the vaulting roof of St. David's Church, like teardrops falling from the dark cloudy skies, as mournful as the man knelt at the altar. The wind ripped through the rafters, wailing and whistling as it went, carrying the soft whisper of prayer as the young priest ran his fingers of his rosary. The elements lamented with the man, echoing his sorrow and forcing the trees to bow their heads in respect. For what felt hours, the wind and the rain had sung the hymns of death alongside Father Jones until he finally rose from his place beneath the high altar, his hands shakily coming up to cross himself. Tortured blue eyes stared up at the stained glass, echoing the misery of the figure of Christ nailed to the cross. Sorrow and anguish bubbled in both the gaze of the long-dead prophet and the mercurial eyes of the very much alive priest.

Ripping his sight away from the figure, Killian forced himself to stand. His legs almost gave out instantly. They were all but dead from having been knelt on the cold hard ground for so long. Reaching out with his right hand, he steadied himself against the foremost pew, silently cursing that his left hand was merely a prosthetic. His long fingers stayed wrapped around the smooth wood, keeping him balanced as the ground rocked beneath him. 

Only once the ground had stopped swaying, and the feeling had returned to his legs did Killian finally move. Not a single sound could be heard other than the gentle flap of his billowing vestments. His footsteps were light on the stone flags, but his heart felt heavy beneath his chest. It thudded against his ribs with a yearning for his hazy past. 

Stilling at the small remembrance altar, Killian stared down at the burned-out stubs of wax, looking for one to light himself. In the dim light, his stormy gaze missed the only free candle once, twice, thrice until finally, they came to rest on the broken wax in the far left corner. His finger fumbled with the box of matches, balancing it precariously on his left hand while running the match sharply across the surface.

With a swift, sudden hiss, the priest found himself bathed in an orange glow and with trembling fingers, he moved to light the wick of the broken candle. For a brief moment, the storm in his gaze mellowed, softening as he gazed into the gentle fire and he found himself mumbling: "Could really do with your advice right now, Liam."

Above him, the wind whistled once more, mournful and alone. Turning his gaze upwards, Killian let out a heavy sigh and shook his head lightly. It was getting late. He should have been home in the relative safety of the cramped apartment by the harbour by now. This was becoming too much of a habit.

Shaking himself, Killian glanced at the flickering candle once more before turning away and heading towards the small vestry, needing to rid himself of the long billowing robes. The long black vestments soon found themselves hanging up once more, replaced by a dark blue shirt, black trousers and a warm black coat. The only thing that remained in its place was the ever-present dog collar, but even with that, Killian felt the pressure lift off of his shoulders. He may have been used to his robes, but he still, after all these years, despised them.

Running his right hand through his inky hair, Killian spared a glance over at the cracked mirror, catching the sight of his days' old stubble, the bags under his eyes and the glint in his gaze that wasn't too sure what he was doing here. He stared for longer than he should have. Before him was a broken man worn down by the chains of the office he wasn't entirely sure he'd wanted to join and a man in desperate need of help. Every good bone in his body ached to help, to make sure that he didn't remain a broken shell. After all, if he couldn't help himself, how could he possibly help others. The selfish part of him just wanted to feel something other than the ache of sorrow and the moral obligation he had sworn to uphold. Killian just wanted freedom. But the dark voice in the back of his mind, the one that sounded so very much like Mr Gold, reminded him in almost childish glee that this was what he deserved. The misery, the loneliness and the ache to be free, Killian had been instrumental in driving himself down this long road to self-hatred, and there was no way he could stop it now. 

_'It's your own fault, dearie.'_

The voice laughed loudly, reverberating through his mind and dancing off of the high walls. The reflection in the mirror joined in with the manic laughter, pointing and gloating at Killian with mirth in those mercurial eyes. With each passing second, the laughter grew louder and louder, until finally, Killian could take it no longer. With a strength he had no idea he possessed, he struck at the mirror. 

Crack. 

The sound rippled through the small church as the gleaming surface shattered and splintered before him, now stained with rich red blood. Killian's fist fell down to his right-hand side, the pain barely registering. He gazed up at the thousand images of his own face that stared back at him, wide-eyed and all breathing heavily. The blood dripped steadily down his hand from the newly torn knuckles felt oddly comforting, as if once he'd grow used to the feeling. Killian could taste the iron in the air, but he stayed still, just staring until his breath evened out and he ripped his eyes away from the mirror.

Cradling his hand to his body, Killian darted out of the small vestry, the door banging behind him loudly and hurried to the next room, knowing that he'd have to clean the blood away before he left. The sink was ancient, much like the little kitchen he'd stepped into, and only one tap worked, but there were no mirrors here, and in the near darkness, Killian let out a deep sigh, allowing the water to wash over his torn skin. His breath came out in sharp bursts, hitching as the water ran over the worn flesh until finally, Killian could no longer feel his hand at all. 

Wrapping it carefully in tissue, he made a note to hurry home and see to it properly, in the privacy of the small apartment where only his thoughts could attack him. Delicately, he slid his hand into a black glove, careful not to remove the tissue barrier he had clumsily put into place before at long last, hours after he'd promised himself he'd leave, he headed towards the thick large oak doors. They creaked and groaned when Killian slipped through them, and the lock hissed at him when he turned the key.

Killian found himself pulling the coat tighter to his body and began to make the long walk back. Only the orangey glow of the streetlamps illuminated the way. Everywhere else had their curtains drawn and their lights off. Even the neon lights of Granny's were off, and the young priest knew all too well that it was long past an acceptable hour to be wandering around outside. His breath came out in steamy white clouds, and he shivered slightly as he walked.

It was only as he turned into the main street that he saw any sign of life. Well, he heard it first. The low rumble of a car, getting ever closer. Bright yellow, it stood out like a beacon barrelling down the road on some kind of mission. Keeping in the shadows, Killian waited for it to pass him by, but as quickly as it had come down the street, it stopped. Halting himself, the priest watched the driver's door open, and his heart leapt up into his throat.

The woman that stepped out was two maybe three years his junior with long, light golden curls, fierce green eyes and a striking red leather jacket. Her eyes were narrowed, and a glint of fury had wormed its way into those beautiful eyes, but still, Killian couldn't tear his gaze away. She looked more like an angel than a human; a fierce, angry one, but an angel all the same. From where he stood, he could see that she was speaking to someone and reluctantly, he looked to the side to see who had come around to stand beside her.

His heart stopped, and his legs started once more.

"Henry? What are you doing here? Is everything alright?" Killian called out, hurrying towards the car, not caring that he was darting out into the middle of the road. 

The small boy glanced up at the sound of the voice, his features softening into a smile and his bright brown eyes crinkling when Killian knelt down in front of him, sharing his face for any sign of injury. Both Storybrooke residents were more than aware of the woman looking down at them both suspiciously, but neither cared at that moment.

Placing a small hand on Killian's shoulder, Henry declared: "I'm fine, Father Jones."

"How many times do I have to ask before you'll call me Killian?" Killian asked, rising to his feet and letting the boy move to hug him, relief washing through the older of the two of them. For a brief moment, he just held on to Henry, grateful that the boy he cared for like a son was safe before he remembered the presence of the woman beside them. Pulling away, his blue gaze darted between Henry and the woman, and he asked: "And are you going to introduce me?"

"This is Emma Swan, my birth mother", Henry said, smiling.

"I'm just dropping him off home." Emma insisted, but she still held her hand out for Killian to shake.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, all the same, Miss Swan. Killian Jones at your service." Killian smiled, taking her soft hand in his, grateful that she'd stuck out her right and tried not to wince, clasping her hand with his and shaking it gently.

"Aren't you a gentleman?" Emma asked, a coy smile dancing on her lips, not quite settling there.

"I can assure you that I am always a gentleman, or at least I try to be", Killian said, shrugging and letting go of her hand before he let his own wander up to the dog collar, pulling it slightly, well aware that she was watching him intently. Unable to stand that piercing gaze for much longer, Killian diverted his attention to Henry once more. "Where were you today, Henry? Archie said you missed one of your sessions?"

Blanching ever so slightly, Henry shrugged, "oh, I forgot to tell him, I went on a field trip."

"Henry, has no one ever told you that it is bad form to lie to a priest?" Killian asked, shaking his head and fixing the young boy with his icy gaze. There was no anger behind the look though, just a tender sympathy and Killian added: "Is this about the book again?"

"Maybe."

Henry hung his head, his eyes moving to his beaten-up shoes, not daring to look at either of the adults while they glanced over at one another. Blue eyes met green, and Killian found himself lost for a moment in that lonely gaze. He almost stumbled back at the sheer intensity of that lonely, longing look and he couldn't help but feel like he had seen it before, a gaze so alone. Only the eyes he'd seen it in had been blue.

Snapping herself out of thoughts, Emma asked: "You know about the book?"

"Aye, I do", Killian said, nodding and then he moved to roll up his left sleeves from both his coat and jumper, showing her where skin met prosthetic. The priest tried to ignore the sharp intake of breath that Emms took and added: "Captain Hook apparently."

"But you're a priest?" Emma raised an eyebrow.

"No, he's Captain Hook - you should see him on a boat", Henry argued before Killian could respond, diverting the attention of both the adults back to him, not that it was a difficult feat. His wide innocent gaze, despite the difference in colour to his birth mother's, had the same magnetic pull to it and Killian couldn't stop himself from smiling at the look of reverence in the young boy's gaze.

"Aye, perhaps she should. And if you want your mother to allow me to take you out into the harbour ever again, then I suggest that you allow Miss Swan to take you home. You know Regina will be worried", Killian said, knowing full well that the Mayor would be less than pleased with Henry at the moment for going out of his way to find his birth mother. He was positive that Regina would be even more disheartened when she finally saw the woman. The Mayor had always been one of the most jealous women that Killian had met.

"Do you know where he lives?" Emma asked suddenly, pulling the priest's attention back to her. Waving her hand in Henry's direction, she added: "He has neglected to tell me so far."

"Oh, aye, sure, just uh, right up on Mifflin Street; the Mayor's house is the biggest one on the block", Killian responded, pointing vaguely behind him, over the tops of the houses to where the Mills' home resided. Glancing back, he watched Emma's features morph into a look of pure disbelief and saw her gaze drift downwards towards Henry, her mouth open ever so slightly. Sighing softly, Killian too turned towards the boy and asked: "You didn't tell her who your mother is?"

"You're the mayor's kid?" Emma questioned, at the same time.

"Maybe." 

"Henry."

Killian's tone was much more severe than usual; a dark bite lay behind that one word, commanding the boy to be truthful with only a single word and stormy look in his eyes. Even Emma recoiled slightly at the sound, having not expected it from the so-far mild-mannered priest to be capable of such a scalding tone. Henry backed up slightly, not meeting Killian's gaze as the dark-haired man stared down at him, piercing blue eyes unwavering and his eyebrow arched.

"Fine, yes, I'm the mayor's kid", Henry said, hastily turning to Emma.

Nodding, Emma kept her gaze on Killian, who straightened up and met her gaze. Placing a hand on Henry's shoulder, Emma stated: "Well, I should be getting him home."

"Aye, that you should." Killian nodded, his tone much lighter, and he moved to place his right hand on Henry's shoulder. "Have a good night, and Henry, no more running off." Both mother and son nodded, and with a gentle squeeze, he let go of Henry, inclining his head to them both, a tender smile on his lips.

Killian could feel both Emma and Henry watching him as he made his way to the other side of the street. He didn't hear Emma bend down to ask Henry about his theory about the priest though he knew she would ask, and nor did he hear the slight agreement in Emma's voice at the idea. In fact, it was only when he listened to the car door slam, that he turned slightly, and watched the pair drive away. Standing beneath the old clock tower, Killian's eyes never left the bright yellow bug, fixed on the retreating car until it turned toward Mifflin Street, vanishing from view. Above him, the hands on the clock remained still, and just for a moment, Killian let himself feel disappointed that they hadn't moved.

Shaking himself, he turned back around and hurried off further into the night, leaving all of his thoughts of Henry, Emma Swan and fairytales at the library. He didn't need to think of them now. All he needed was some potent alcohol and a decent bandage as well as a good night's sleep, though the latter didn't seem too possible. His mind was reeling, despite the effort to put everything to the back of his mind. As if to add insult to injury, his left hand began to ache, longing for something lighter, maybe metal to be attached to it. Once more, Killian shook himself and sighed heavily.

_'It does no one any good to dwell on dreams and faith, little brother.'_

But perhaps, just maybe, it did do some good.

With that thought, Killian hurried off towards the harbour, not looking back behind him, too afraid of where his mind would wander off to if he did. 

…

Morning came far too early. Golden light filtered through the cracks of Killian's blinds, casting its rays over his face and forcing the dark-haired man to stir from his restless state of semi-consciousness. He fought to keep his eyes shut, but the persistent sun was too harsh and too bright. With a soft groan, Killian let his light blue gaze flutter open and propped himself up against the headboard, surveying the room.

His apartment had always looked more like a hotel than a home, long and straightforward with the kitchen, living area and bed in one room while the bathroom was to one side by the front door. Added to that was Killian's compulsion to keep his things in order, neatly folded and out of sight along with the lack of personal touches. In fact, only the photograph of himself and Liam on his bedside table and the painting of an elaborately designed anchor suggested that someone lived there. His sparse belongings could all be packed up into one chest, and no one would ever know that he had lived there. And that was how he liked it.

Stretching much like a cat, Killian forced himself to rise up from the bed, pushing aside the dark grey duvet and slowly moving to regain his balance. In the morning light, his right hand looked more of a mess than it had done in the church. Torn skin had turned to bloody scabs, and dark bruises decorated the surface of his elegant hand. Each subtle movement sent waves of pain coursing through his veins, and a sharp hiss left his lips. The mess of his right hand was nothing compared to that of his left though. All that remained of the left one was a mangled and mutilated stump covered up by smooth skin and scar tissue, which spent most of its hidden behind his prosthetic.

A rush of shame flushed through him, and Killian found himself reaching out for the prosthetic. Thumbling with it, Killian desperately fought to fasten it to his left wrist and secured it into place. Only when it was properly fixed in place did Killian start to busy himself around the apartment. He went about picking out a pale grey shirt and dark trousers, putting the coffee pot on the stove to take to the Sheriff's station and shaving away the stumble that had begun to creep up around his neck and face. Part of him had wanted to keep it, but he had a role to play here, and he reluctantly found himself barefaced when he finally stepped outside onto the harbour twenty minutes later, a coffee cup holder in hand with two fresh coffees.

The streets were abuzz with life from Archie heading over to his clinic to Ruby and Granny setting up all the signs for the diner to parents leading their children towards the school. Some of Storybrooke's residents smiled and waved at Killian as he passed him; others gave him a wide berth, eyeing the dog collar with suspicion. Towering above them all the clock tower stood, the hands still firmly stuck on quarter past eight. Killian sighed softly at the sight and turned his gaze towards the Sheriff's station, his tired gaze missing the bright yellow bug parked outside of it.

"What are you looking at, sister?" Leroy's voice rang out loud and clear as the priest stumbled into the main room, careful not to spill the still hot coffee he was holding.

"Hey, Leroy manners!" Killian snapped, not glancing at the other inmate and slipping inside the Sheriff's office to leave Graham's coffee for him as he had done every Thursday for as long as he could remember. Only when everything was in its right place did Killian look up. 

Once more, Emma Swan made his heart stop.

Her long blonde curls hung lazily over the edge of the bars, and her green gaze was fixed upon Killian, watching him slowly walk towards her. Emma's lips were drawn into a thin line, and her eyes were narrowed, but still, Killian couldn't stop himself from smiling at the sight of her. She was a much more welcome sight than Leroy was, though he couldn't help but wonder what had happened for her to have ended up here.

"I apologise, Miss Swan for Leroy's lack of manners", Killian said, inclining his head in the direction of the man in question.

Shrugging, Emma slouched further and offered him a half-hearted smile before sighing to herself. Killian watched, transfixed by the smallest thing she did, as she suddenly rose to her full height and locked her green gaze with his blue one. The smile moved to her eyes for the briefest of moments, and she mumbled: "Don't worry, I've heard worse." 

"That's never a good thing to hear", Killian responded, his brow furrowing but Emma shook off his words and they lapsed into a momentary silence while Leroy watched on, curious. Very much aware that he was staring and that they had an onlooker, Killian cleared his throat and asked: "So is this all Henry's elaborate scheme to get you to stay?"

"Actually, I was just dropping him off", Emma responded, glowering at the tall metal bars.

That hadn't been part of the plan.

Part of Killian wanted to ask what had happened, how she'd managed to end up in the small Sheriff's station overnight. His curiosity had never been something he'd had much control over, but he knew better than to open his mouth. If the glower she'd sent the bars was anything to judge by, it would not do to annoy her. Even Killian wasn't blind enough when it came to women to ask such a question.

"Tkh. Don't blame ya. They're all brats; who needs 'em." Leroy butted in, breaking the priest out of his reverie. His voice reminded both his fellow inmate and the other man of his presence in the small station.

"You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone in this town who agreed with you on that, especially about Henry." Killian pointed out, leaning back against the desk beside him. Taking one long measured look at the shorter man, he added: "Honestly, I think he's won more hearts than Sheriff Humbert, and that's a difficult feat apparently."

"Doesn't that break the seal of confession?" Leroy asked, not missing a beat.

"Not unless I tell either of you who those people happen to be", Killian said, shrugging. Feeling Emma's gaze on him once more, he turned his head back to her, following her line of sight to where it rested on the torn knuckles of his right hand. Killian stuffed the offending part of his body into his coat pocket and asked: "Are you alright, Miss Swan?"

"Hmm? Yeah, I'm fine." Emma stumbled her mind elsewhere.

"She was -" Leroy started, but was cut off by the sound of footsteps and the all too cheerful voice of Sheriff Humbert. 

"Leroy!" Graham exclaimed, entering the room with his usual swagger and heading straight towards the right-hand cell. Killian kept his eyes on the other two men, not wishing to watch Emma's gaze divert to the Sheriff. If he had looked at her, he would have been met with her fierce green gaze fixed upon him, but alas, his eyes remained fixed on the cell. Graham had pulled out one of the ancient keys from his pocket and informed Leroy in the same exuberant tone: "I'm going to let you out; you need to behave. Put on a smile, and stay out of trouble." 

A wave of relief crossed Leroy's face at being free, but it soon morphed into a false smile, and he leaned against the iron bars, his eyes narrowed in challenge before he slipped away from the station. Emma, Killian and Graham found themselves watching him walk away before the Sheriff turned to his old friend and grinned: "Good Morning, Father Jones."

Rolling his eyes at the title, Killian said: "Morning, Graham. Coffee's on your desk."

"You're a Godsend." Graham smiled, his dark gaze glimmering with gratitude.

Shaking his head slowly, Killian shrugged: "I don't know about that, and how many times have I said this, it's Killian."

Graham sent him a smirk, turning on his heel and heading towards the glass walls of the office to find his coffee. Killian could see the steam rising from the thermos and couldn't help the smile that found its way onto his lips. He liked this part of his job: making others happy or at least content. The Sheriff had long insisted that he didn't need to bring coffee, but still the priest most mornings found himself here, coffee in hand and ready to lend a comforting ear. Only, there wasn't usually an ethereal looking woman in the cell behind them, impatiently waiting for her release.

"Seriously?" Emma demanded, pulling Graham out of his coffee induced bliss and bringing the attention of both men back to her, not that it was a difficult task. 

Sheepishly avoiding her gaze, Graham looked down at his feet, a shy smile on his lips and informed Emma: "Regina's drinks; a little stronger than we thought."

The woman glared at him from behind the bars. Emma's look all but forced the Sheriff to look at her while the priest did so by his own volition. Killian's mouth still hung open from Graham's statement. Emma glowered at the man holding the keys to the cell and Killian shook his head mumbling: "You drank with Mayor Mills? No wonder you ended up here, and I thought that Mr Humbert had the least self-preservation of any soul this side of the pond."

"I have self-preservation skills, thank you very much, Father Jones." Emma snapped at him, though there was a flush of colour around her cheeks, cluing him into her embarrassment. 

Quirking an eyebrow upwards, Killian matched Emma's green gaze, watching the fire flicker and dance in her eyes. For a few seconds, they stayed like that, daring the other to look away. The voice at the back of Killian's mind, the one that he desperately tried to avoid listening to, taunted him for his lack of morality and how willing he was in that moment to forsake his vows. The priest pushed that aside and couldn't deny the small pulse of satisfaction when Emma looked away first. 

Fixing her gaze on Graham, Emma defiantly said: "I wasn't drunk; there was a wolf, standing in the middle of the road.

"A wolf. Right." Graham scoffed, sending a Killian a look.

Feeling both gazes upon him, Killian shrugged and found himself stating: "there are a few wolves roaming the forest, actually, especially around the town's borders."

"See!" Emma exclaimed, triumphant, her eyes glowing in delight, "thank you, Killian."

The priest smiled softly at her, all too aware that Graham was giving him his best death stare, though the Sheriff could never quite pull off that look of fury. He had too much of a lost puppy look about him to be frightening, and out of the two of them, both knew that despite Killian's missing hand, the priest was stronger. Both men opened their mouths to speak, but the sound high heels and shouting cut them off.

"Graham? Henry's run away again, we have to-"

Regina stopped dead. Her eyes flickered from Graham and Killian standing side by side, the former straight-backed while the latter leant against the desk before her dark gaze met Emma. Her eyes bulged at the sight of the other woman, and before she could stop herself, she hissed: "What is she doing here?" 

The other three exchanged a long look. Graham looked as if he wanted to tell Regina, he always did though, while Emma and Killian both found themselves shaking their head at the idea. Silently, the Sheriff agreed, reluctantly shrugging at the Mayor, but she'd already moved on, and once more rounded on Emma. "Do you know where he is? Henry?"

"Lady, I haven't seen him since I dropped him at your house, and pretty good alibi", Emma said, venom in her voice and she gestured at the thick iron bars caging her into the small cell.

"Yeah, well, he wasn't in his room this morning." Regina snapped back, evidently unimpressed.

"Did you try his friends?"

"He doesn't really have any. Kind of a loner." Regina shrugged as if having friends shouldn't have been Henry's top priority as a ten-year-old.

The birth mother found herself glowering at the Mayor. But her fury was nothing compared to that of the priest in front of her. The knuckles on the back of Killian's right had turned white inside his pocket, save for where the scabs tore themselves open. The tranquillity of his azure gaze turned dark and stormy within an instant at Regina's words, and he found himself snarling: "Mayor Mills, please try to be courteous about your son."

Both Emma and Graham stared at Killian, taken aback by his tone. Both had seen him displeased before, and Graham had seen him angry, but that was nothing compared to what they saw now. Love and protectiveness swirled through the storm in gaze fighting with hatred and fury. All of the much more negative emotions in his eyes were directed at the Mayor. In that instant, Emma could understand why Henry thought that the priest was Captain Hook. Even she recoiled, not that Killian noticed, his eyes focused solely on Regina, and she watched on as the Mayor straightened up slowly.

"I do not need another lecture from you, priest", Regina growled.

"No, you just need me to make sure that your son isn't driven insane from loneliness." Killian bit back, taking his shaking hand out of his pocket and flexing it slowly. Warm blood oozed over his knuckles, dripping onto the laminated floor. 

Fearful of what may happen next, Emma cut in before Regina had the chance to argue with Killian once more. "Every kid has friends. Did you check his computer? If he was close to someone, he'd be emailing them."

"And you know this how?" Regina asked, turning on her.

"Finding people's what I do", Emma said, shrugging her shoulders. Glancing up at the bars and then back at Regina and Graham, carefully avoiding Killian's gaze, she added: "here's an idea; how 'bout you guys let me out, and I'll help you find him."

"Very well." Regina conceded, but before she seemed to have mellowed out entirely, she turned back to Killian once more, and snapped: "And, you, stay out of the way."

"As you wish, Madam Mayor." Killian inclined his head, brushing past Graham and adding in a dark undertone: "It's not like I know most of his hiding spots."

"If you find him, call me." Graham insisted, grabbing Killian's arm and stopping him in his tracks.

"Aye, but only when he's ready to be found", Killian said, looking between both Regina and Emma, who were observing him carefully. Sighing quietly, he mumbled: "make sure the mothers don't kill each other."

"No promises." Graham shrugged.

With that, he released Killian, allowing him to glide out of the station with three sets of eyes on his back. Blood dripped slowly from his hand as he moved, but he didn't care about it. He had a job to do, and he wasn't about to start listening to Regina. He never had done before, so he wasn't about to start now. Taking a deep breath in once he was out onto the street, Killian glanced around briefly, not really seeing before turning sharply on his heel, towards the harbour. Only one thing was on his mind: finding Henry.

...

The sound of rushing waves and the howling wind met Killian's ears when he finally set eyes on Henry's small form, sheltered beneath one of the four turrets of his castle. The ancient structure creaked and groaned, unhappy about being blown about in the gale, but aside from the occasional sway, the entire thing remained standing. It couldn't stop the soft mop of hair upon Henry's head from flying about in the breeze.

Even from several yards away, Killian could tell that the little boy was lost in his own thoughts. Huddled up against one of the wooden pillars and beneath a thick coat, Henry's face was just visible, his head bent downwards. Killian didn't have to see the book to know that _Once Upon A Time_ rested securely in its owner's lap, open towards the end with the pages about Princess Emma, the Saviour.

"I thought you'd be here", Killian called out, finally making it to Henry's side and moving to sit beside the boy.

"Killian?" Henry asked, snapping the book shut and looking up at the priest, his brown eyes wide and scared.

"Now, you remember my name?" Killian joked gently, but upon seeing the look on Henry's face, he quickly found himself asking: "Are you alright, lad?"

Henry didn't answer. Instead, he buried his head into Killian's shoulder, clinging to him like a koala and letting the older man hold onto him gently, as if Henry was his son. The boy shook, but refused to cry, though Killian could tell that Henry was more than upset and angry. Keeping his mouth shut, Killian brought Henry closer to him, shielding the boy from the wind as much as he could, unsure of how to comfort Henry.

"I want her to stay."

At first, Killian wasn't sure he had heard correctly, which in all fairness wasn't entirely his fault. Henry had whispered into his shoulder just as a particularly strong gust of wind hit the small castle. Glancing down, Killian's icy gaze met the soft brown of Henry's, and he saw the small ring of red around the iris. Henry's tears may have all dried up, but the priest knew all too well that many had been shed.

"Is that too much to ask?" Henry questioned softly, staring up, afraid.

"Perhaps", Killian said, unable to lie to the boy. He couldn't fault the boy for wishing that his birth mother would stay with him, but at the same time, Emma had her own worries to deal with. Sighing softly, Killian pointed out: "She does have a life outside of Storybrooke."

"Yeah, back in Boston." Henry huffed, and then froze.

Icy blue eyes bulged in their sockets, and Killian found himself staring down at Henry in disbelief. He knew that Henry had travelled a long way to find Emma, especially given the late hour that they'd returned the night before, but he hadn't expected it to be that far. Over one hundred miles to see a woman, the boy didn't even know. Beneath his chest, Killian's heart hammered rapidly, and he found himself stammering: "Boston? You went all the way to Boston yesterday? Henry something terrible could have happened to you, mate."

"I just want to break the curse, and I want to know why", Henry replied, looking down, his cheeks flushed with the cold and embarrassment. Killian knew that the kid hated that he'd made others worried, but at the same time, he couldn't help but sympathise. He'd been abandoned too.

"Why she gave you up do you mean?" Killian asked. There was no cruelty in his tone, and even Henry didn't seem too upset by the question. In fact, the boy looked grateful that the man understood what he had meant. Unable to stop himself, Killian found himself adding: "Henry, did I ever tell you that my father abandoned me?"

"No."

The boy shook his head, brown eyes transfixed and sympathetic. Curiosity danced across his wide eyes and from his place beside Killian, Henry waited for the older man to speak. He watched Killian look away from him, icy blue eyes growing distant and stormy, finding a place on the horizon to stare at as he lost himself in town. The thundering waters danced in the priest's gaze for a long moment before Killian finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

"I was nine when it happened. My mother had died long before, a fever I think, I don't really remember it or her, so it was just me, him and Liam, just the three of us, but we were family. He'd gotten us on to a boat, a ferry I think to cross over to Europe for a new beginning there, maybe. Liam had fallen asleep long before I had, and I couldn't sleep. My Dad told me not to be scared that we'd all be together - a family. He sang me to sleep and then slipped out like that." Killian paused, taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment before continuing: "Turns out Liam and I weren't off to a better life. He'd found someone who wanted cheap labour and well, a nine-year-old and twelve-year-old far away from any port were perfect for that. My father sold us to escape, he was a coward, no he _is_ a coward."

"Killian -" Henry started to say, but he was cut off quickly.

"At least Emma made sure you had a loving home to go to. At least she gave you a chance." Killian mumbled, frantically brushing aside the single tear that had left his icy blue gaze.

"But-" Henry started.

"Whatever her reasons, and you'll have to ask her about that yourself, she did it for you." Killian insisted, looking down at Henry, his eyes brimming with certainty. "I promise you that."

"Henry!" 

Both the boy in question and Killian turned to see a shock of gold curls flying towards them and a pair of anxious green eyes in the form of Emma Swan. Her red jacket barely shielded her from the wind, but she looked as if she didn't care as she hurtled towards the two of them and in a move that surprised even herself, wrapped her arms firmly around the young boy and mumbled: "You're okay." Henry clung to Emma, burying his face in her neck until she finally moved away, but only so that she could sit beside him, ensuring that he fit snugly in between herself and Killian. Keeping her arm around her son, Emma glanced up at the priest and smiled: "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it, Miss Swan", Killian responded, inclining his head.

"Emma."

"Emma, right." Killian grinned.

Both adults lapsed into silence, watching Henry as his eyes moved to the tall clock tower, where the hands remained resolutely stuck on a quarter past eight. Sending Henry an apologetic look, Emma asked: "Still hasn't moved?"

"I thought it would when I brought you here", Henry confessed.

"What would?" Killian asked, unsure of just what they were talking about. He'd definitely missed quite a few of their conversations, and he had a feeling that Emma knew more about Henry's fairytale ideas than she let on.

"The hands on the clock." Henry filled him in "because I brought the saviour home."

"Saviour?" Emma questioned puzzled.

"Aye, Emma, you're our saviour, didn't you get the memo?" Killian's lips quirked upwards, cocking an eyebrow at her and grinning. With his clean-shaven face and mischievous gleam in his eyes, he looked much younger than he had done the night before and Emma couldn't resist smiling back.

"Isn't that blasphemy for a priest?" she asked.

"It's a good thing I'm a pirate then, isn't it love?" Killian replied, not missing a beat. 

Two pairs of eyes landed on him, and his heart frozen. Something deep in the back of his mind, something long suppressed, stirred from its slumber for a moment before but Killian shoved it aside, blanching. Shaking his head, he quickly mumbled: "Lord, I didn't mean to say it like that."

"It's working!" Henry exclaimed.

"Hmm?"

"You sounded like Captain Hook in the book! He was always flirting with those he met, and well apparently he said 'love' quite a lot." Henry supplied his eyes bright and hopeful. The part of Killian's brain that had begun to rise grew more attentive at that, but the priest shook it off as he quickly rebuffed the idea.

"Henry, that's just a byproduct of my Navy days. I'm sorry, lad." Killian said, placing a hand on Henry's shoulder gently. He hadn't wanted to say it, but it was much safer not to let Henry's imagination run too wild. At least that's what he told himself. He refused to believe that he could possibly be anything more than he was, not even if his mind had responded. There was no hope believing.

"Oh."

The small sound almost shattered Killian's heart, and judging by the look on Emma's face, she felt the same. Both adults wrapped their arms around Henry, holding him tenderly, and for a second, they almost looked like a family. From a distance, someone could have easily mistaken them for one, and secretly, though none of them would admit it, all three wished, in that instant, that they could have been.

"Well isn't this cosy?"

Three heads snapped up in unison, eyes narrowing at the intruding figure approaching them, leaning heavily upon his cane as he did so. Emma sent a confused glance at both Killian and Henry, waiting for an explanation, but neither provided it. Killian had long since risen from his seat, his dark gaze a mix of distrust and dislike as he spat out: "Mr Gold."

A sickly sweet smile graced Mr Gold's lips, and in a sugary voice that sent chills through all three of them he stated: "Father Jones, your rent is due, I'm afraid."

"It's back at my apartment", Killian confessed, not moving.

"You better hurry and get it, dearie." Mr Gold supplied. 

Bowing his head, Killian rose from where he was sat but found his movement halted by Henry jumping down beside him and once more clinging to him. A twinge of gratitude flooded Killian's being, and he ruffled the boy's hair affectionately before slowly detaching himself. Emma too looked as if she may say something, but she was cut off long before she could speak by Mr Gold's voice behind them.

"On second thoughts, I'll go with you. No need to waste any more of my time than you already have done." Mr Gold said, looking delighted at the chance to rip Killian away from the other two when it was so evident that the other man wished to stay. His grin was terrifying, and the priest knew all too well not to refuse him.

"Aye, Mr Gold." Killian nodded, "I'll see you soon, Henry. Miss Swan."

Mr Gold and Killian had barely made it three paces when they heard Henry shout: "Wait, Killian!"

"Aye, Henry?" Killian asked, turning to look at the boy.

"Can I still sail on the _Jewel_ with you this weekend?" Henry asked, his eyes wide and hopeful. 

"Aye, always, lad", Killian assured him before Mr Gold swept him away.

Their footsteps crushed together over the ancient stone and gravel path. The only sound other than the wind and the waves was the crunch of the road beneath their feet. Even Gold's cane, which usually sent a thunderous boom in his wake, fell silent out here, and for a few blissful minutes, neither man spoke. Though the mistrustful voice at the back of Killian's mind warned him that it would not last. There was little more that Gold loved than the sound of his own voice. 

"I thought Priests were meant to be celibate." Mr Gold leered, once they'd finally made it back onto the solid pavement, the wind no longer able to mask his voice. Killian stiffened at the statement but made no sound, continuing to walk as Gold asked: "Has the Pope changed his mind?"

"You know full well that he hasn't and you also know that you just happened to walk in on a normal conversation between three people, Mr Gold", Killian replied icily.

What felt like a lifetime ago, Killian would have at least tried to hide the anger and distaste in his voice when speaking to his landlord, but Gold's personality had worn even him down, and the priest refused to conceal the hatred. He couldn't possibly explain why he despised the older man, but there was something about him that Killian just couldn't stomach, no matter how hard he tried to do so.

"I wasn't aware that young Henry was capable of a normal conversation. The world is full of surprises." Mr Gold sneered, hoping for another rise out of Killian, but the younger man had been expecting it. Gold had always been devious, but Killian had always managed to see right through it.

"Aye, it is, Mr Gold", Killian said curtly.

Tutting quietly to himself, Gold allowed Killian to lead him up the rickety old stairs that led to the front doors of the Harbourside apartments. The metal groaned softly but made no other indication of giving out, and the older man found his focus back on the priest once more. Staring at the straight-backed man before him, Gold remarked: "Always so formal, Killian, yet you insist that we're all informal with you. Rather strange if you ask me, dearie."

"Perhaps, I am avoiding selling my soul that way, and besides, you'd be surprised what stays with you, Mr Gold. Maybe I just can't shake off my Navy days." Killian supplied, finally reaching the door of apartment 21B. The key rattled in the lock for a fraction longer than average before allowing the owner to lean inside and grab the relatively large wad of cash that Gold was expecting. "Here's your rent, Mr Gold."

Weighing it in his hand, Gold fixed his dark gaze upon Killian's daring the younger man to look away before he said: "Be careful, Father, temptation is powerful, especially when a beautiful woman is involved. You more than most should be aware of that."

Taken aback, Killian stared at him for a long moment, not quite too sure of what to make of that. Gold had given him tidbits of 'wisdom' before, but none quite so direct. For a second, Killian just stared at the landlord, his mind reeling before he shook his head and murmured: "I'm afraid that I don't quite understand your meaning, Mr Gold."

"Oh, you will, soon enough." Mr Gold simpered, taking one last long disapproving look at Killian before nodding his head towards the other man. "Good afternoon, Father," and with that, he was gone.

Closing the door behind him, Killian leant back on the flat surface, running his hand over his face and through his hair, his chest heaving up and down. A chill ran up his spine, and he slumped further against the chipping white paint, sure that some of the flake would end up embedded in his coat, but at that moment, he didn't care. When he finally could stand up straight once more, when the unfamiliar feeling eventually left him, Killian spoke quietly. The two words that left his lips harked back to a time long forgotten, a time long lost to him, but that felt so natural falling from his mouth. Two words that all but shattered the distant fog of his addled brain, but not quite.

"Bloody Hell."

...

Night had long since settled in when Killian finally left his apartment once more, sick of seeing the same four walls and from staring at a blank sermon that refused to write itself. He'd pushed his laptop aside and grabbed his thick overcoat and messenger bag on his way outside. It was bitterly cold. The wind may have long since calmed down but what did remain of the gale was icy and cruel, tearing at the exposed flesh of his face. Bundling himself up further into the coat and flicking up the collars, Killian found himself setting off down the pier at a much brisker pace than normal.

Shivering as he went, Killian took comfort in breathing in the sea area, letting the familiar taste of saltwater calm his fevered mind and battered soul. The ground beneath his feet was slick from where the waves had crashed into the harbour. None could touch him right now with the tide so far out to sea. Despite that, he found himself grasping for a railing every so often, the prosthetic making a dull thud sound as it collided with the weakening metal that just about managed to stop people from falling into the harbour and being swept away.

After the third time this happened, Killian resigned himself to turning further inland, towards the clocktower and Granny's though he very much doubted the diner would be open. His feet, however, found themselves trending the ever so familiar path to the town centre. Once more darkness had closed in over the streets, but in the inky blackness of night, Killian could make out the familiar sight of Emma Swan standing by her bright yellow bug, a map in her hands.

"Miss Swan, are you quite, alright?" Killian asked, approaching the woman.

"Father Killian!"

Chuckling at her quick change in demeanour, Killian watched Emma fold up the map and throw it into her car through the window as he stated: "Just Killian will do, Miss Swan. Now, are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm just trying to find a place to stay." Emma said, flicking her hair back behind her and smiling, "and I thought I told you to call me Emma."

"I've never been good at doing what I'm told, Miss Swan." Killian shrugged, his bright blue gaze sparkling. Upon catching her unimpressed look, Killian added: "Emma." 

The look she sent him left him shivering. There was a bright fire in her gaze, and Killian found himself instantaneously mesmerised by that look. Gulping, Killian reached up to scratch behind his ear and said: "I'm surprised you decided to stay. You seemed adamant that you were just dropping Henry off."

"Well, he's grown on me. I promised I'd stay for a week." Emma shrugged "and no more."

"He'll be pleased to hear that." Killian smiled softly, surprised that she had agreed to that.

Taking in the woman before him, Killian couldn't help but wonder what could have possibly happened to change her mind. From the moment he'd met her, she had made it very clear that no matter how much she liked Henry, Emma would not be staying for any longer than necessary. He knew that the only reason she'd stayed this long was down to the fact that she'd woken up that morning in a prison cell. 

"But I don't know where I'll stay - I might just have to crash in the bug", Emma said, pulling Killian out of his reverie.

Shaking his head, Killian fixed Emma with his icy blue gaze and announced: "That won't do. _Granny's Bed and Breakfast_ isn't far away. I can take you there if you like?"

"Thank you, Killian." Emma smiled before glancing down at her dirty white shirt. "I'm going to have to find a new shirt, though." 

Quirking his lips upward into a smile, Killian found himself instantly grateful that he never left the apartment without his messenger bag in tow. He took a step back, moving the bag around his thin frame before rooting around inside it. Emma watched him suspiciously, and her green eyes widened in disbelief when he pulled out a black henley shirt and held it out to her. Killian smiled and said: "Here, take this."

"Thank you?" Emma asked, taking the soft black material.

"Sailor, remember? I always carry around a spare shirt, though usually, Henry steals it." Killian informed her, knowing full well that the boy had more of his shirts lying around than he did. Shaking his head, Killian added: "Granny's isn't far, and your car should be okay here."

Together they set off in silence, Killian leading Emma towards the other side of the diner. For a few paces, Emma kept up the imposed quiet but soon found herself asking the question that had been on her mind. Turning her head to face Killian, she asked: "So what do you think of this whole curse thing?"

Pausing for a long moment, Killian fixed Emma with his icy blue gaze and sighed before he finally answered: "I think Henry has been very lonely for a long time. It just so happens that the pictures in his storybook have a startling resemblance to different people in the town. I think that his faith in it is something to be admired."

"A priest would say that", Emma replied, smiling.

"No, not really. Most would probably have him exorcised for this belief in worlds, not ours, Heaven or Hell." Killian responded, shivering at the mere thought of it.

"You would know, I guess", Emma said, not seeing the flicker of terror in his dark blue eyes.

"I'll have you know, Miss Swan, that I have never witnessed nor performed an exorcism." Killian informed her, his eyes growing a fraction stormier for a moment and he added in a dark voice: "Besides, something like that would destroy an imagination like Henry's, and that would be a terrible thing indeed."

"Definitely."

"And here we are." Killian stopped, waving his hand towards the bed and breakfast. 

Unlike the diner, there were no bright neon signs and the entire building was illuminated by the soft orange glow of lamps by the windows. Much like the rest of the town, it had a quaint nature to it, and Emma found herself staring at it with distaste. She was beginning to get tired of the small town. She couldn't quite shake the feeling that this town was a little too picturesque.

"After you, love."

Killian's soft British voice broke through Emma's thoughts, and she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, guiding through the open door and into the orange glow of the reception area. The room was much warmer than outside, and Emma found herself relaxing for a brief moment, turning around and looking for the owners. She didn't see them at first, but she definitely heard them.

"You're out all night, and now you're going out again." An elderly woman shouted down the stairs, her voice full of exasperation and annoyance. Emma sent Killian a sceptical look, but the priest just shrugged at her, evidently used to it.

"I should've moved to Boston!" A much younger voice exclaimed.

A tall, long hair woman, a couple of years younger than Emma stormed down the stairs followed by a much older woman, who countered her granddaughter's statement with: "I'm sorry that my heart attack interfered with your plans to sleep your way down the Eastern Seaboard!"

Shifting her weight between her feet, Emma called out: "'Scuse me? I'd like a room?"

"Really?" The elderly woman asked her eyes wide. She scrutinised Emma for a long moment before both she and her granddaughter glanced at the man in Emma's shadow. Upon seeing Killian, the elderly woman smiled and asked: "Did you do this, Father Jones?"

"I'm a priest, not a miracle worker. I merely suggested this place for my friend." Killian assured her, placing his right hand on the small of Emma's back and prompting her to move forwards.

Smiling at the blonde woman, the owner spoke rapidly: "Would you like a forest view or a square view? Normally there's an upgrade fee for the square, but as the rent is due, I'll wave it."

"Square is fine", Emma replied, softly, not too focused either way.

"Now. What's the name?" The owner asked, opening her lodger and poising her pen above the page, ink dripping from the nib of the fountain pen. 

"Swan. Emma Swan." Emma supplied.

"Emma." 

Four heads turned sharply to the door, and the three Storybrooke residents straightened up immediately, their eyes narrowed at the man in the doorway. Instinctively, Emma found herself matching their stances and facing the man with them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Killian's good hand clench, the scabs at his knuckle threatening to break open and that was when she realised who the man at the door was. Her eyes narrowed, and she stared back at Mr Gold, waiting for him to speak.

"What a lovely name." Mr Gold simpered, stepping into the light.

"Thanks", Emma said, her eyes not leaving him.

"Mr Gold." Killian greeted, his tone terse and full of warning.

"Father Jones." Mr Gold said, matching the tone.

Behind Emma and Killian, the owner began to root about in the drawer behind them, and much like Killian had done in his apartment earlier, Granny handed him a large wad of cash. "It's all here."

"Yes, yes, of course, it is, dear. Thank you." Mr Gold smiled, walking forward and taking it from the elderly woman. Without so much as weighing it in his hand, he pocketed it. Offering them his best sugary smile, Gold turned to Emma and added: "You enjoy your stay, Emma." With that, he turned on his heel, heading towards the heavy door. Placing a hand on the wood, Gold turned once more, his gaze fixed on Killian's face and he added: "And Father, do remember what I told you about temptation. Maybe it would be best if you walk out with me."

Sighing, Killian turned to the other three and inclined his head to them before wishing them a quiet "goodnight."

"Night, Killian, and thank you", Emma mumbled, giving him one last smile before letting him leave through the same door that Gold had just vanished through. He sent them one last look before ducking his head through the archway and pulling the heavy oak door behind him.

Gold had long since vanished, but Killian had been expecting that. Shivering, he brought his thick coat closer to his chest and began the trek back to the harbour. As he stepped back out into the main street, Killian couldn't resist the urge to glance up at the clock tower and found himself transfixed as the minute hand moved slowly, with low creak from a quarter past eight to sixteen minutes past. A broad grin spread itself across his lips, and with a renewed sense of hope, Killian held his head up high and headed back home, his entire being buzzing with excitement at what the next day may bring.


End file.
